


The Intricacies Of Love

by KassandraScarlett



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Implied Meg Masters/Sam Winchester, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV First Person, Pining, Unrequited Castiel/Dean Winchester, Unrequited Castiel/Sam Winchester, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett
Summary: I will never understand how anyone- human or otherwise- could ever desire only one brother and overlook the other.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87





	The Intricacies Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 4 fucking AM, so pleeease, keep that in mind if there's anything wrong in this.

Despite what my brethren say, I only Fell from Heaven for Dean. But before that, I fell in love with Sam Winchester. Dean came later. After all, you can't have one without the other.

_**“The Abomination.”** _

Dean is the Vessel. The to-be leader. Our soon-to-be savior, guided by Michael’s Grace. 

My brothers and sisters say he’s the only human who matters. They watch him, observe him, and do not interfere.

I watch the younger, the spare, the Abomination. He always seems so lonely. His destiny is no fault of his own. Dean has all my siblings' attention; Samuel deserves someone watching over him too. I’m mocked for this, of course. But I save Samuel from tripping over grassy rocks as he tries to crawl over a field, I nudge him towards libraries after he argues with his father, I stop the rain from drenching him as he stands alone at the bus stop in California. But I can’t save him from Balaam, housed inside his friend Brady, for it would require too much interference. It is painful, to see him so taken in by love and adoration that he is blind to the danger so close to him. And I think… Perhaps I _am_ too attached. Perhaps I _am_ too eager to care for him. So I spare Jessica Moore as much pain as I can and then I leave him alone.

_**“Perdition.”** _

It’s both too long and just a blink- three years, by human count- until I’m called back. The Vessel is in Perdition. I've been asked to retrieve him.

It’s heat down here. It’s fire. It’s pain. It’s stifling. My garrison fights, defends me, holds back the demons. I worry for them as I search and then… Dean. Dean Winchester. His soul is large. Flexible. Accommodating. It molds itself to me, wraps around my edges, with a keening cry for help, for its mate, for love.

I cradle it and its warmth is a beautiful thing, changing me in a way I will not understand for a long time. I almost want to keep it with myself, hoard it somehow. I think to myself that I would want to fight by his side one day. Perhaps.

It’s a disappointment when he can’t hear my voice.

And, of course, it’s no surprise when he doesn’t take kindly to seeing me either.

So I suppose it shouldn’t be such a shock when he’s rude, uncouth, disrespectful, and downright blasphemous. It is unfair how fascinated I am by him.

_**“The Boy With The Demon Blood.”** _

And then I meet _him_. Samuel. Sam. His hand is warm in my vessel’s, his eyes shining with respect and adoration, his soul a wordless hum of _gratitude-awe-yousavedmybrother-thankyou_. It’s powerful, and dizzying, and I know I make a mistake when I say “The boy with the demon blood.” The awe fades and now there’s hurt and I want to make it better. I _ache_ to.

Uriel reprimands me for letting myself be so affected.

I almost regret it. _Almost_.

But I remember the boy who prayed all his life, who went unheard by every angel save myself, though unbeknownst to him.

I _can’t_ regret it.

_**“Making It Up As We Go.”** _

Dean is angry. It grates.

He’s hurt. It makes me ache.

He’s desperate. I fold.

His soul is pulsing, eager and raring, when I press a hand over his mouth. I can almost feed off its energy. It’s making me giddy, making me reckless, and I already know I’ll do anything for him and his brother.

It feels like a warning: _Careful, Castiel, or you’ll suffer for the rest of your life._

But, as Zachariah has often lamented, I don’t listen to warnings very well. Perhaps it is time I listen to my own _guts_ , as Dean puts it.

So, I defy a Prophet, send the Vessel away, and face an Archangel. Chuck’s hand is a comfort on my shoulder and Raphael’s smiting is almost benediction. Redemption.

_**“Stupid Questions.”** _

Sam has inquiries. A lot of them.

_What do angels sound like?_

_What color are my wings?_

_Can I only see souls or bodies too?_

_Am I truly the creator of Thursday?_

_Why do angels smell of ozone?_

_Am I truly bonded with the Righteous Man in a way incomprehensible to other beings?_

The last one is asked with a frown. An air of hesitancy, trepidation, insecurity.

“Are you in love with him?” He asks, voice low, almost ashamed, embarrassed, afraid.

“No,” I lie. “But you are,” is the truth and I don’t understand why the truth should sometimes not be spoken.

Sam blushes and denies it.

It’s against my grain to lie. But the look on his face- relief and satisfaction- is worth it, I feel.

As is Dean’s grudging approval that I no longer crush Sam’s faith. He likes me better now. They both do.

That shouldn’t be so important to me, but… Well, I have Fallen. And fallen. So, it is what it is, I suppose.

_**“Watching From Afar.”** _

I think maybe Dean doesn’t know how to live without his brother. Not simply that he _can’t_. But he truly doesn’t _know how to_. He cannot fathom an existence without his partner-soul, without his brother, without his mate to revolve around. I am not, and will never be, enough, no matter how much I long to be.

Lisa and Benjamin Braeden aren’t enough either. Maybe they’re aware of this, maybe not, but they make him feel content, if not happy. And that’s more than I can do. I watch him from afar. Because if I don’t, I’ll ask for his help. And Dean deserves rest.

_**“Hubris.”** _

Sam’s absence is a wound, a gaping hole, a gap in existence. I can’t bear it, any more than I can bear to watch Dean’s misery. Perhaps if they are happy together, I can partake in that happiness too.

Hubris has never been my flaw, but it is my downfall now, as I watch Sam walk away from his brother with nary an emotion on his face.

He prays to me. Often. But I suspect the nature of my mistake and fear is one of the many human feelings I’ve acquired recently; I’m too afraid to face him, knowing what I’ve unwillingly done.

So, I watch him from afar too and hope that one day, he will forgive me for never answering his calls.

And he does. Of course, he does. Even soulless, he is incapable of deliberate cruelty. 

I didn’t think it was possible to love someone more. Now I know I’m wrong.

Still, it hurts when he rejects my embrace.

_**“Isn’t That Wonderful?”** _

Guilt is an ugly thing. It feels like mud- easy to get into, difficult to get rid of.

Sam’s wall crumbling beneath my touch is a sensation I will never forget. Neither is Dean’s expression of betrayal. Both hurt. I told myself it was for the greater good. I know better now. What point is the greater good if I hurt the ones I love?

Taking on Sam’s pain is the least I can do. The demon Mastema- though she prefers Meg, the name of her first vessel- is lovely. I think I could love her, if I really tried. I think she could love me too.

But her blackened heart belongs to a man who only has eyes for his brother. I know how that feels. I face the same problem from that very man and the aforementioned brother.

But it’s easy, with Meg. Easy to pretend. Easy to feel something, a pale shadow of what I feel for Sam and Dean. She says as much as well.

Dean asks me what I will do after the battle. I don’t know. I no longer have purpose, save to accompany him and his brother. That will have to be enough. It _will_ be enough. So I smile and tell him that I do not know and isn’t that a wonderful thing?

He still doesn’t understand, why I would take Sam’s pain. Wonders if there is more to it than a desire for penance. “Are you in love with him, or something?” He asks, caustic to hide his worry, blunt to hide his fear.

I almost laugh, because I’ve had this conversation before with Sam. “No,” I lie. “But you are,” is the truth and, sometimes it should not be said, but sometimes, certain people need it beaten over their heads.

He laughs it off.

_**“It’s Peace.”** _

Beating Dean hurts. The mere look of cautiousness and distrust on Sam’s face hurts too.

I hear Dean’s prayer. But I can’t help, not now, not when being near them would only make them a target.

But I can feel Sam. Each Trial pushes the Gates closer to each other. I can feel it, as can every angel and every demon.

And even on the run as I am, I can feel the rippling of power every time Sam completes a Trial. I can feel the energy derived from his very essence, his soul stretching and breaking off pieces to shut the Gates.

It’s horrifying, knowing that one of my dearest friend is dying. It’s also soothing, those precious few moments of peace when the power of his soul washes over the world.

_**“Human Now.”** _

I'm a human now. It has its perks. For example:

Dying is terrible, of course, but when I come back, I see Dean. Not his soul. But his pale skin. The freckles scattered across his face like distant stars across the galaxy. Lips as tempting as the Forbidden Fruit. He’s beautiful.

Then there’s Sam. Just as beautiful, though different. Silken hair with strands of red and gold woven in, like auspicious tapestries. Deep dimples when he smiles that make it impossible not to smile back. God’s very first supernovas contained in his eyes, so easy to get trapped in, and just as fatal.

I will never understand how anyone- human or otherwise- could ever desire only one brother and overlook the other.

I will never understand how they have not succumbed to each other yet. Their physical forms are almost as close at all times as their souls are entwined. 

_**“Whatever It Takes.”** _

Dean is a demon. And then he’s not.

Every part of me wants to be there with them, wants to help share the grief.

But Dean is content with only Sam. And Sam has turned himself into an armor for his brother, against the rest of the world.

It’s a bit hurtful. But I never expected anything else. Whatever helps them.

_**“I Had To.”** _

Lucifer uses me.

It’s alright, at first. He doesn’t hurt me. I trust him not to hurt Sam and Dean. That proves to be a mistake.

He tortures Sam. Again. Plunges a hand deep into his soul, squeezing it and twisting it.

I can feel every second of it and I hate it.

A small part of me enjoys it too. Enjoys the sensation of Sam’s soul in my grasp. It’s smaller than Dean’s, but brighter. It’s not malleable, but firm. Stubborn.

I have an urge to protect it. Shelter it. Keep it from all harm.

Is this how Dean feels?

It gives me the strength to take control from the Devil. I had to, at least temporarily, to save my friend.

Is this how Sam felt in Stull Cemetery?

_**“A Win.”** _

Dean can’t understand why I would protect a Nephilim.

I can’t explain that it’s because I’m weary of playing second fiddle. That I can feel a connection with the unborn child and I hope he will fill the hole in me that has been created by these two human brothers. I can’t explain that despite having been in love with them for years, there is only so much heartache and loneliness I can take.

That having a child, even one who isn’t biologically mine, would be a win for me. A gift. A blessing.

Unrequited love is a special brand of pain, after all, according to Metatron's gift of culture.

_**“At Long Last.”** _

I enter the war room. Dean is leaning on the table, Sam watching him warily.

“Just tell me,” he commands. “Dean, if the love spell didn’t work on you, it’s only because you’re already…” He choked. “Already in love. So just tell me. Please.”

Dean sees me first, frozen in place as I am. “Cas, could you…?”

I walk away without waiting for him to finish. I don’t want to hear this. Yet, I can’t go too far. I hide behind a door, listen in.

“Is it him?” I can hear Sam ask. “Is it Cas?”

Oh, how I wish it was me. Me, who Dean falls asleep and wakes up thinking of. But I'm not.

“Drop it, Sam.” Dean's voice is brimful with pain.

“It is, isn't it?” Sam laughs, short and broken. “Just admit it.” I want to make it stop, want to cover him up and soothe his hurt away. But I can't do that either.

“Sam, just, shut up.”

“Look, Dean, no. It’s okay. I- I think he probably feels the same. So why won't you just tell him? You- you deserve to be happy, Dean, and if Cas makes you happy then-”

“It's not him!” Dean shouts.

Sam’s voice is even more broken when he asks, “Then who?”

There's a “Oh, fuck you, Sam,” and a muffled curse.

I can almost imagine the way it happens. Dean will have turned around, furious and desperate. He will have grabbed Sam’s jacket and yanked him into a harsh kiss, angry and scared. Sam will have stiffened in shock, fighting at first, then clutching at Dean's hips for fear of it all falling away into dreams. Dean's grip will tighten, for fear that it is a one-time thing.

I don't know how long I stand there. But I hear Sam whisper, “Oh god, oh fuck, Dean, you don’t know- for so long…” And Dean’s litany of “Sam, Sammy, fuck, I love you, god, Sammy…”

And I fly away.

My wings have been broken for years, but it's nothing compared to the ache in my chest, so I scream from the top of the mountains. There’s no one to hear me.

_**“My Son.”** _

Jack makes it better. He makes everything better. I love him. Maybe more than I've ever loved Sam and Dean.

_**“You Have Each Other.”** _

Now Jack is gone. Mary is gone. Dean blames me. Sam doesn’t, but he wants to. It is simply not in his nature.

They're not holding hands or embracing. Not even touching.

But Rowena's loss is ripe and there's a third set of initials carved on the table and my son is dead and Sam and Dean are looking at each other like there's nothing else in the world. And there really isn't. Not for them. Not even me.

There's nothing for me here. Maybe there never was.

Even so, it hurts to walk away, even knowing it's for my own good. It hurts more to know that I'll be back if they ever need me.

But for now, I walk away and I don't look back. 

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: kassyscarlett


End file.
